


Ain't Born Typical

by orphan_account



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Jewish Bucky Barnes, Multi, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, ftm Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 01:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5356223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers was born a boy, and no one is going to tell him otherwise. This, of course, creates problems. Problems like Sarah and Steve being asked to never come back to church, Bucky refusing to return to the synagogue, and, most of all, Steve being unable to enlist in the army.</p>
<p>This is the story of Steven Grant Rogers. This is the story of a man who built everything himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

Steven Grant Rogers is a boy, and no one can tell him otherwise. He’s six years old and barely three feet with a scrappy haircut he gave himself in a corner shop’s bathroom and his Ma, dear old Sarah, tried to salvage. He rolls up his sleeves and scrapes his knees on sidewalks when he’s running away from bullies on the street, grins happily with two big gaps in the middle because his front teeth just fell out, and isn’t this cool, Ma? Now I can stick my tongue through the gap!

Sarah says God must have forgotten to tell the angels Steve was meant to be a boy when they were making them, and smiles a dangerous smile when people tell her that her boy is poison. They used to go to church, when Steve was a little baby and let people call him Saoirse without too much fuss, but the priest sent Sarah home shouting about the devil when Steve walked in to Sunday mass one week with shorts and suspenders instead of the fraying dress his Ma had bought the fabric for when he was three inches shorter.

There’s a new family in the tenement block, by the name of Barnes. They’re from Ireland, like the Rogers, but Cork rather than Dublin, and they’re Jewish rather than Catholic. They have a little girl named Rebecca who’s just two years old, and a little boy named James who’s just a year older than Steve.

Steve knows what the adults think of him, knows they say he’s wrong and the devil’s work, but he has too much faith in people. He sees the bags stacked outside the Barnes’ door one morning on his way to the press to start his newsy rounds, and goes running home after work squealing with delight. 

“A new family, Ma!” He yells, his face pink with exertion from running up the stairs.

“Yes a leanbh, sit down now,” Sarah says calmly, pulling out a chair for Steve to collapse into. He should know better than to run so hard, what with his bad lungs, feet, and back. It’s a wonder he hasn’t killed himself yet with all the running he does. “You know what I’ve said, yes?”

“People aren’t going to be so accepting,” Steve nods rapidly, like one of the figurines in Mr. Brogan’s shop that bob their heads when you tap them. “I know, Ma. But they could be nice! I could have a friend. I wonder if they’ve got a kid of their own, I wonder if they’re my age!”

“People are going to be very hard on you, a leanbh,” She says slowly, placing her cracked and tired hands on Steve’s shoulders to let him know how serious she is. “And that’s no reason to be angry with them, or to hate them. But you must always be wary, for there are sneaky people in this world. The sneaky people are like the evil fairies I’ve taught you about, back in Ireland, but they won’t go back to being kind if you give them what they want. They’ll just take more. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma,” He says quietly, finally stopping his nodding. “I understand.”

“Good,” She smiles warmly, and swipes at a smudge on Steve’s cheek with her thumb as she draws her hands back to her hips. “Now go invite them to dinner, aye?”

Steve beams and scrambles out of his chair, only slowing down when he catches Sarah’s disapproving expression out of the corner of his eye.

The Barnes’ are polite, and James hits it off with Steve almost instantly when he sees Steve has a copy of A.A. Milne’s ‘When We Were Very Young’, Steve’s most prized possession. By the time Rebecca has started drifting off to sleep and the Barnes family bids them goodnight, James and Steve are thick as thieves. 

“His full name is James Buchanan Barnes,” Steve says proudly as his Ma tucks him into bed. “His favoritest poem is Twinkletoes because he says it’s about the fairies like in Ireland, and he likes jam and bread, but not butter and bread. And his teeth stick out all funny because he sucked his thumb too long when he was a babe. He doesn’t like that much.”

“He’s a good boy, James is,” Sarah nods firmly. “His parents are good folk, but you tell me if they start evoking the name of the devil, you hear? Folk that call you bad aren’t the kind we associate with.”

“Yes, Ma.” Steve says slowly, his eyes drooping. Sarah lays a kiss on his forehead, and tucks the sheets up around his ears. A chill is coming to Brooklyn, and it won’t leave until winter’s end. Better to try to stave off illness than try to get it over with.

___________________________

Steve is only six for now, but one day he’ll start to develop, and there’s a chance he’ll still insist on being a boy, a rather large chance. Sarah knows how fast fashion changes, and takes advantage of her extra wages one month by buying up compression vests in several sizes. They’re secondhand, but they’ll have to do, and they’ll work when the time comes. She hides them in her dresser for when Steve’s old enough.

___________________________

The next time Sarah Rogers sees James Barnes, he’s grown another inch and is sitting with Steve on the front porch of the tenements.

“Miss Rogers!” James calls, his accent thick and his lisp not helping much. “How was work, Miss Rogers? Do you need help carrying the shopping?”

“No, dear,” She says, balancing a bag between her hip and her elbow while she unlocks the door. “Why are you two out on the stoop? You’ll catch a cold, Steven.”

Steve blushes and scuffs his foot down on the pavement, shivering slightly in his freshly-patched wool coat. 

“It’s my fault, Miss Rogers,” James says quickly, glancing at Steve worriedly. “We were playing with some of the neighborhood boys and they got a little rough, so we came home, but no one was in so we had to wait.”

“Little rough, hm?” She asks, her sharp eyes landing on James’ black eye, Steve’s bloody nose, and the countless scrapes and bumps between the two of them. “You’re lucky I’m a nurse, a leanbh. Come up to the tenement and I’ll patch you both up.”

“You ain’t mad we were out in the cold?” James asks slowly as the two boys follow her into the building.

“Of course not,” She says. “How long were you waiting?”

“Just a few minutes,” Steve says. “Not long, Ma. Don’t worry, they didn’t rough us up too bad.”

There are no broken bones, but Sarah scrapes snow off the windowsill and puts it in an ice bag for James’ eye while she makes dinner.

“Does your mother know you’re with Steve?” She asks, peeling potatoes with more determination than should be assigned to such a menial task.

“Yes Miss Rogers,” James nods. “She’s with Da at the service. Rabbi Bohmer says I’m not allowed anymore.” After the last part of his sentence, he claps his hands over his mouth as though he’s said a bad word and his Ma will pop out of the pantry to wash his mouth out with soap.

“Why’s that?” Sarah’s steady process slows considerably as she looks to the two boys sitting at the counter.

“Rabbi Bohmer says I hang out with unsavory types,” James says quietly, not meeting Sarah’s eyes. “He says if I repent, he’ll let me back, but I don’t want to repent. I’m not bad because my friends are different. They’re not bad for being different neither.”

James, Sarah decides, is wiser than most adults five times his age.

“Ma says I ain’t born typical,” Steve offers. “We can be not-typical together.”

“Aye.” James beams.

_______________________

 

James comes into the Rogers’ tenement one afternoon in a huff shortly after his twelfth birthday, positively fuming as he wears a hole in the floor.

“Penny for your thoughts, James?” Sarah asks mildly, pinning her name tag onto her nurse’s uniform as she gets ready for another night shift.

“Some kids were teasing me at school for being me,” Steve says, toeing his shoes off just inside the door. “I’m used to it, James. Don’t worry about it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be used to it,” James growls. “You’re a person, just like me. I ain’t no better than you. If they could just figure that out-“

“What, you wanna be called names or somethin’?” Steve snaps. “More so than usual, that is?”

“It ain’t the same,” James says. “I get called names for my religion, you get called names ‘cause you ain’t born typical.”

“If you want a mean nickname, I can give you three.” Steve says.

“Be my guest.” James shakes his head exasperatedly.

“All right, buck-tooth,” Steve says. “Bucky buck.”

“That’s got a weirdly nice ring to it,” James laughs. “Bucky.”

“It’s sticking forever now, I’m never calling you James again.” Steve jokes.


	2. Home Is When I'm With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick little note, I've got a lot of this written up already, so I'll be posting 1,500 word minimum chapters once a week until it's done! In the first scene here, Bucky's 14 and Steve's 13. It's September of 1931.

The day the twins are born, both Steve and Bucky leave school early. Bucky, to meet his new brother and sister, and Steve because he punched a boy in the eye for calling him ‘Saoirse’. Sarah isn’t happy.

“I can’t believe you, Steven,” She says, slamming the cupboards of the kitchen as she makes lunch. “Hitting that boy was bad enough, but biting him too?”

“He called me _that name_ ,” Steve growls. “It ain’t my name, Ma. I don’t care what it says on the school roll, it ain’t mine. ‘Sides, he hit me first. Called me a freak and pushed me down, then he called me S-“ He makes a face, unable to bring himself to say it.

Sarah won’t pretend that it had killed her a little inside when Steve had started refusing to be called the name she had given him first, but she also won’t pretend that she’d do anything to make him happy. Daughter or son, Steve is her child, no matter what.

“I know, Steven, but hitting people is not the way to retaliate.” She says instead.

“What would you have me do?” He cries, shoving away from the kitchen counter and slapping the knife back down on the cutting board. “Stand there while he hits me? You start running, they never let you stop, Ma. I can’t give him that kind of satisfaction. I can’t let him win.”

“I would have you tell someone!” She snaps. “You tell a teacher, you hear me? You don’t go hitting and biting boys twice your size for some harsh words.”

Steve snarls in frustration and storms away, fists tight at his sides. He slams the door of his room behind him, kicking the walls to let out some anger. He’s not mad at his Ma, not really, even if he thinks so at first. No, he’s mad at stupid Mark. Stupid Mark and his stupid friends, laughing and jeering at him, calling him names. He can still hear them if he closes his eyes, no matter how bad his hearing is. He feels sick with how angry he is, but he takes a few deep breaths and sits down on the edge of his bed.

The bedroom is small, just his bed and a bookshelf, not even enough room for a desk or nothin’, no matter how much Sarah might want for Steve to have one. The bookshelf is only as tall as Steve is, four feet even, but thrice as wide as him. It’s filled to burst, paperbacks jammed together on every shelf and stacks next to that, stacks on the floor where it’s spilled over. There’s everything from picture books Sarah had bought him when he was a babe, to pulp books Bucky always ‘forgets’ under Steve’s bed, to books on wars fought and won before Steve was born.

Steve’s always wanted to find his father, only knowing him in the few stories his Ma has told him. He knows he was a soldier for the army, though he doesn’t know which army, that he was tired of fighting, that he died on the ship from Ireland just weeks after marrying Sarah on the deck of the cargo ship they’d stowed away on. Steve’s become obsessed with the search for his father in the past year, pouring over draft records from The Great War and great big books heavier than himself with accounts of battles that waged for days.

Now, in his anger, Steve hates his father. He hates him for running from his duty, for having his change of heart and helping defend the cargo ship from an attack from a German naval ship, for falling victim to a mustard gas canister, for staying in the cloud of the deadly toxin so long that he suffocated. For never meeting his son, or teaching him how to defend himself from assholes like Mark. 

He grabs the book of enlistment records Bucky had “bought” (Steve knew he’d taken it from the library, there was a stamp on the inside cover where the librarian had missed the card) and stuffs it in his jacket pocket before bursting out of his room so hard the door bangs against the wall. He runs for the door, and barely makes it out before his Ma can even shout.

He runs down the stairs of the tenement, hot tears sliding down his cheeks and blurring his vision. He has to stop when he gets to the corner of the block so his lungs can catch up, and he curses them as he falls down to his knees, coughing harshly.

“Steve? That you, pal?” Bucky’s voice says. Steve’s head whips up, and he jumps to his feet and sprints as hard as he can away from his friend. He doesn’t need Bucky’s _pity_ or his false promises. He needs his father, so he can curse him and damn him for leaving him so alone. He reaches Main Street Park before he has to collapse again, wheezing harder than ever in his efforts to get his _damned_ lungs to work.

His vision starts to white out, and he panics. He can’t pass out, not here, not _now_. Not in the park his Ma told him to stay away from after dark, not alone. He forces himself to breathe in using his stomach, pressing one small hand on his belly to keep track of the rise and fall. He starts when another, larger hand lands on his shoulder. His eyes fly open, only to land on none other than Bucky Barnes, not quite as out of breath as he, but still fairly winded.

“What the hell’s going on?” He demands, and then, catching the sound of Steve’s wheezes, asks: “The shit were you thinkin’, Stevie? Running all this way, your Ma’s gonna have your ass- Where is she, anyways? Why aren’t you in school?”

“Mark,” Steve says once the edges of his vision stop fuzzing. “Mark and his gang.”

“Deep breaths, Steve,” Bucky murmurs. “What’d they do to ya? I swear to moses, I’ll slug him if he laid a hand on you-“

“It’s not worth it, Buck,” Steve deflates slightly, all of his anger gone as he fights to get enough air into his lungs. “Help me home?”

“Sure thing, pal,” Bucky says without a moment’s thought, already slinging Steve’s arm over his shoulder. “Scared me half to death, you did, running off like that. Here I was, coming home with my new siblings, all ready to introduce the three of you, and you run like you’ve got the devil on your ass.”

“Careful,” Steve wheezes. “Your Ma’ll wash your mouth out with soap,” He draws in a deep breath. “If she hears you talkin’ like that.”

“Ass.” Bucky shakes his head.

“Jerk.” Steve grins.

 

________________________

 

Steve is sixteen, almost seventeen when he first wakes up with red on his sheets, and spends the next week locked in his room when he’s not in school, doing God knows what. Bucky only drags him out after it’s all finally over. By all means, he should’ve started his periods years ago, but illness and his general health had delayed it. He had been hoping it would be for good.

“Come on, the matinee’s in twenty minutes,” Bucky says, wrapping an arm around his best friend’s shoulders. “My treat. I hear the new Walt Disney short is good. What’s it called again?”

“Cookie Carnival,” Steve says begrudgingly, grabbing his jacket on their way out. “Where’d you even get the money for the subway and tickets?”

“Told ya I picked up a few more hours, didn’t I?” Bucky frowns. 

“No, you didn’t,” Steve frowns too, knowing it for the lie it is. “Must’ve forgotten to mention it, aye?”

“Aye,” Bucky agrees, grinning suddenly. “Might even have enough for popcorn.”

“Buck,” Steve complains. “You gotta use that for your family, maybe get Becca something nice for her birthday?”

“Hell no, I already got her gift,” Bucky snorts. “And don’t worry so much, Stevie. You deserve something to cheer you up after the hell of a week you’ve been having.”

“It’s fine,” Steve insists. It’s really not, he’s been crying for days and wanting to rip and tear his skin until there’s nothing left. He’s wrong and bad and he hates it. “Come on Buck, I know you can’t afford all that.”

“The hell I can’t,” Bucky says defiantly. “Besides, it’s my choice what I spend my money on, and you need a pick-me-up.”

“He always needs a pick-me-up,” Sarah calls after them. “Go mope outside for a change, Steven. It’ll be good for you.”

 


	3. There Won't Be A Next Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for forced medical procedures without the patient's consent or knowledge.

There are many reasons for Steve to think he’s broken, or wrong, or any other negative descriptor that people throw his way on the streets. He’s never really believed it until now, though. 

He’s sitting on his bed, gripping the letter and shaking so hard he thinks it might rip, but there’s no time for that now. It had just been a normal check-up with a doctor friend of Ma’s who was retiring soon, but looked the other way when Steve lied about what name he’d been given at birth. Just a normal check-up, and some blood work.

Except, that he’d had to fill out some extra paperwork while he waited, and now, two months later, the letter had arrived.

_Dear Steven,_

_Had I known what my colleagues were planning, I would have stopped them. Please, remember this._

_It has come to my attention that during the last appointment you had with me, a nurse who was overviewing your file notified another doctor of your sexuality and gender non-conformity, as well as your many physical and mental ailments. The doctor, without consulting me or any other individuals, sent you into a special observation room under the guise of paperwork. In fact, he and other doctors have used this room to sterilize many women and men, by pumping radiation from an X-ray machine into the room. It is my deepest regret to inform you that there is nothing I can do to reverse this process, and nothing I can do to prove this before a court of law. All I have is circumstantial evidence, though it is enough to know for sure that you have undergone this process._

_I will speak to your mother personally, and we will find some kind of recompense for this atrocity._

_Yours,_

_Dr. Sam Towers, M.D._

The appointment had already been bad enough, with Dr. Towers informing him of his newly diagnosed ‘volatile personality disorder’ and the advancement of the loss of hearing in his left ear, and now this… Sure, he’d never been much for kids, never even considered having any of his own, but.

Now the choice was taken from him. And it was _legal_. That was the worst part. It was _perfectly legal_. He’s had friends of friends who were carted away to mental institutions for being queers, who came back barren and traumatized, friends who went in for an appendectomy only to find out months or years later that their tubes had been tied, or snipped. Some of them had tried to take their doctors and surgeons to court, and _all_ of them had been told the same thing.

Undesirables were perfectly legal to forcibly sterilize.

 

 

__________

 

Sarah is not long for the world, confined to a bed in the hospital as she fights a losing battle against TB. Steve’s not supposed to be there, he could get sick, but he’d snuck in and none of the nurses had the heart to deny him one last visit, even if he doesn’t know it’s going to be his last. Sarah’s taken care of more TB patients than she cares to remember, and she’s gotten good at keeping track of how long it takes for them to finally pass. If her count is right, and it always is, she’ll be gone by the morning after next.

Bucky’s come with Steve, the begrudging accomplice in every single of Steve’s little plots, always tagging along to make sure he doesn’t burn himself out or take it too far.

“Tell us a story, Ma,” Steve says, determined to keep her smiling and peaceful even in her illness. “Tell us how you came here.” It’s the one story Steve doesn’t know, the one story he can never know, but Bucky knows it well. Overheard Sarah telling it to his Ma one night, and promised them both he’d never tell Steve a word of it.

“Oh, Bucky knows it,” She says with a small cough. “He’s better at stories than I, a leanbh.”

“Don’t worry, Miss Rogers, I’ll tell it,” Bucky grins. “It all started when your Ma caught a cart bound for Dublin, thinking she’d be a maid for some richer folk.”

The rebellious war-torn streets of Dublin were no setting for a story, and Bucky knows this well, even if he was from Cork. So, he spins them a story about a farm girl and a soldier who fell in love while they were stowed-away on a ship bound for New York, how the soldier had died of an illness just before they landed, but not soon enough that he hadn’t married Sarah on the deck of the ship after the captain had caught them hiding behind the potatoes in the hull.

It’s a beautiful story, makes Sarah ache that it were true, but soon the sun is setting, and Bucky drags Steve home. Steve leaves the ward first, promising to wait for Bucky in the hall so he and Sarah can have a word.

“You take care of my boy now,” Sarah says, holding Bucky’s strong hand in her cracked and feeble one. “You make sure he doesn’t lose his hope, it’s just about all he has now. But most of all, you take care of yourself. Don’t let him be alone, he doesn’t do well alone.”

“I know, Miss Rogers,” Bucky says dutifully, smoothing the blanket over her as he crouches at her bedside. “He’s a good kid, I’ll make sure he’s taken care of. Get your rest, aye? I’ll sneak you an egg cream the next time Steve drags me down here.”

Sarah smiles weakly, Bucky knows there won’t be a next time, that when he sees her again it will be as they lower her pine coffin into the earth, but he’s a good boy. He knows when to tell the truth and when he has to lie.

“Y’hi ratzon milfanekha Adonai Eloheinu velohei avoteinu shetolikhenu l’shalom v’tatz’idenu l’shalom v’ti’smihaynu l’shalom, v’tagienu limhoz heftzenu l’hayim ul-simha ul’shalom. V’takhziranu l’baitanu l’shalom,” Sarah begins, but falls into a coughing fit before the second verse.

“V’tatzilenu mi’kaf kol oyev v’orev v’ason ba’derekh, u’mi’kol minei pur’aniyot ha-mitrag’shot la’vo la’olam. V’tishlah b’rakha b’khol ma’a’se yadeinu v’tit’nenu l’hen ul’hesed ul’rahamim b’einekha uv’einei khol ro’einu. V’tishma kol tahanuneinu ki El shomea t’fila v’tahanun ata. Barukh ata Adonai sho’me’a t’fila,” Bucky finishes, handing her a glass of cold water once she’s calmed herself from the fit. “Go forth, Christian soul, from this world, in the name of God the almighty Father, who created you, in the name of Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, who suffered for you, in the name of the Holy Spirit, who was poured out upon you,  go forth, faithful Christian. May you live in peace this day, may your home be with God in Zion,  with Mary, the Virgin Mother of God, with Joseph, and all the Angels and Saints.”

“Amen.” Sarah whispers. 

“Amen.” Bucky agrees.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, forced sterilization was perfectly legal in the US until after WWII. Even after, it was still performed, mainly on mentally ill women and women of color. 
> 
> Also, 'volatile personality disorder'? Old timer talk for Borderline Personality Disorder. I have it, Illya Kuryakin from TMFU has it, and Steve Rogers probably definitely has it.
> 
> The prayer Mrs. Rogers says for Bucky is a jewish prayer for safe travels that I found on some website forever ago, so I have NO idea if it's translated or worded correctly as I am not jewish in the slightest! Please let me know if it's wrong and help me fix it!


End file.
